Graverobber held the vial of luminous blue liquid in his hand, watching the substance swOim back and forth in its container as he rocked it from side to side in his palm. He longed for the simpler times in his life, before he had become a Zydrate dealer, when he was loved and gave love in return. Despite his hardened exterior, Graves knew he craved what every human wanted – affection, touch, and a deeper connection than just sex with another human. Unfortunately, his "career" hardly allowed for such frivolousness. In this city, it was pretty much kill or be killed. He definitely did not want to be on the "killed" end of things, especially not with Amber Sweet being one of his top customers. She could sic her henchmen on him faster than a Z-Addict would be on top of someone holding a "Free Zydrate!" sign.

Graves pocketed the vial after a few moments, shuddering at the thought of Amber coming after him. Luckily for him, she was usually too lazy to ncome to his dumpster herself. Of course, there were those rare times where she was jonesing so badly she needed to come to him personally. In those cases, Graves wanted to shrink into the ground and never resurface, although he never showed it. He had more pride than he would ever really let on.

The click of boots on the asphalt caused Graverobber to look up from his hand. He hoped it wasn't a customer. He wasn't particularly fixed on the idea of customer service tonight.

"Graves?" a light, nervous female voice asked. Her body was concealed in the shadows. She didn't sound familiar to him that was for sure.

"Yes. . . ?" Graverobber leaned forward slightly, attempting to capture her in his view. Finally, after a few hesitant seconds, the woman emerged from the darkness. She was extremely short – probably 5'5" to his 6. Her face was hidden behind a mane of wavy brown hair with red streaks. She wore the typical attire of one who was somewhere around lower-middle class – a red tank top with a long sleeved, off the shoulder shirt underneath, a short, a ripped black skirt, and red fishnets covering her legs. Knee high black boots and several pieces of silver jewelry finished off the outfit. She brushed her hair away from her face, revealing an eyebrow piercing above oddly colored blue eyes, reminding him of the vial in his pocket. Her face was beautiful besides the fatigue on her features. This was a deep pain, a heavy world-weariness which sank to the bone. Graves was all too familiar with that expression.

"What's your name. .?" Graverobber asked. Apparently his mood had changed. He usually didn't bother to ask if they'd done anything during the day, let alone their names. Being a drug dealer didn't call for interpersonal relationships, after all.

"Trisha. Trish. . whatever." The girl shrugged her shoulders, crossing her arms in front of her chest nervously. Graves smiled lightly at her, despite her aloof attitude. He knew a defense mechanism when he saw one.

"I don't bite. Not unless you like that type of thing."

Trish looked at him rather blandly, and then glanced around the alley. She was not in a joking mood. It was only the two of them in the brick and mortar stretch of darkness. Graves shrugged after a moment, leaning against the back wall to observe the girl in front of him. She had to be no older than 18. Although, due to her expression, she definitely looked (and probably was) older in spirit. Trisha was oddly cute, in a pixie like way, he thought . Graverobber could have smacked himself at that point – customers were not for fucking unless they had no money and were badly jonesing.

"What can I do for you this evening, Trish?" He continued leaning against the cold brick wall, the freezing stone soaking through the back of his ever loyal coat.

"I need Z for someone. And they don't have any money. . ." Trish said quietly, fingering the largest necklace hanging from around her neck. Graves managed a look at the pendant, which glittered in the light of the street lamp above them. It was a Victorian style butterfly made from silver and encrusted with what appeared to be pearls and diamonds. Risky business, wearing something that beautiful and obviously worth money around a town like this. Trish, apparently, had no idea where she was living.

"Okay. Who's this friend? Maybe I can go get them to get the Z themselves instead of sending you to grab it for them." He felt horrible for this younger girl having to do a drug deal for some punk who probably wouldn't give her the light of day after she scored for them. This was definitely not normal for him.

"I can't say," Trish snapped. Graves looked at her, slightly taken aback, but said nothing. He made a mental note never to ask about "friends" again.

"Okay then." Graves picked at one of his gloves, musing over the worn leather. "And you don't have the money for the Z either, I'm guessing." Trish shook her head slowly. She yanked at her shirt now, agitated.

"Right. I normally have a price if someone doesn't have money. . ." He opened his mouth in shock as Trish immediately went to her knees in front of him and began working on his belt. She was experienced at this. No one else would have done what she just did. "WHOA, kid, hold it!" Graves sidled off to the left, buckling his belt shut again. "I'm not going to make you pay."

"Why?" Trish's expression held nothing but suspicion. She stood quickly, pulling at her shirt again, a nervous habit.

"Just know you won't be paying me tonight." Graves reached into his pocket, producing one of the many vials of Zydrate he carried around with him. He handed the drug over to Trish, who continued to look suspicious of him.

"Thank you," she replied slowly, unsurely.

"My pleasure." He smiled softly still. The girl turned from him now, sliding the vial into her skirt pocket. She began to walk away, her boots clicking on the asphalt yet again. Graves shook his head. She was experienced and yet so naïve when it came to certain things, it seemed. The corner of his lips stayed perked up as Trish's shadow looked over her shoulder at him. He watched her hesitate at the opening of the alley, then turn left and leave.

Graves knew he would be seeing Trish again, probably a lot sooner than either of them would like. Of course, this is how Zydrate worked. One shot and you were hooked. He only hoped he hadn't made a dire mistake giving this somewhat innocent girl a hit of the Devil himself.